


atlantean soup is great for colds

by nomwrites



Series: Harrisco Fest Prompts [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Harrisco Fest, M/M, Sickfic, harrisco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2016-10-24
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:48:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8369392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomwrites/pseuds/nomwrites
Summary: Cisco has a cold and a crush. Harry gets him into bed. Not like that.





	

**Author's Note:**

> prompts: soup, sick  
> Follows "in the rain" but you don't have to read that.  
> All of the stories in this series will be set in the same 'verse.

“I just want you to know,” Cisco says, magnanimously, “That I forgive you.” 

 

“For what?” Harry replies. He sounds distracted. Cisco cranes his neck to see what he’s working on. He spies the top of Harry’s ridiculous hair and not much else before he has to put his head back down. The ceiling is spinning again. He closes his eyes and breathes slowly through his mouth. 

 

“For giving me this plague,” Cisco says, as soon as the nausea passes. Never let it be said that Cisco Ramon can’t soldier through adversity. _And_ be gracious while he’s at it, “I forgive you, man.” 

 

Harry snorts. “You have a _cold_ , Ramon. And I didn’t give it to you.” 

 

“I have the cold from _hell,_ thank you very much. And, uh, you _totally_ did.” Okay, so Cisco might be exaggerating a little bit. But he feels terrible and poking at Harry makes him feel better. “Dude, you made us walk in the freezing rain for three hours and now I’m sick. It’s totally your fault.”  

 

“First of all,” he hears a sharp metallic _thunk_ as Harry presumably puts down whatever tool he was using, “I didn’t make you do anything. You could have volunteered to stay with the van while I got help.” This time he hears a dull sound from the far corner of the room. Did Harry throw something? Cisco would object but he's happy just listening to Harry getting riled up. A few dinged tools are worth the distraction. “Second, we walked in the rain for two hours, not three, _and_ we had an umbrella. Third—and this is the most important bit, Ramon, so listen carefully—your immune system is _your_ problem, not mine.” 

 

“Semantics,” Cisco dismisses, as casually as he can. The workshop is quiet now so he catches Harry’s irritated growl.  

 

Cisco grins. _Score_. 

 

Then Harry bites out, “I didn’t hear you complaining when you were clinging to me like a limpet.” 

 

Cisco’s grin drops off his face _instantly_. His eyes snap open in alarm as an odd fluttering feeling bursts in his chest.  

 

 _Damn it._  

 

Cisco had a plan today—ignore _the problem_ until it goes away. He's been trying to push yesterday's revelations to the back of his mind—that is, his stupid heart deciding that it maybe, kind of, has a crush on the man who looks exactly like the one who'd killed and betrayed him. But it’s proving really hard to do when the root of the problem is _right there._ Looking all warm and soft and—ugh. That’s not even true. Harry Wells doesn’t look warm or soft, at all. He’s all sharp angles, pale skin, and icy blue eyes. Cisco should just knock himself out now. Stop his stupid brain from being stupid. 

 

Except… He knows first-hand how appearances can deceive. Yesterday, in the rain, with Harry pressed against him for hours---the warmth and softness of him had made Cisco wish the empty road would never end.  

 

“Ramon!” 

 

Cisco jerks in surprise. A strong pair of hands has him by the shoulders. He doesn’t know when he closed his eyes but he opens them now to see Harry kneeling over him, looking concerned. 

 

His throat goes dry.  

 

“Ramon? You weren’t answering me. What the hell are you doing on the floor?” Harry asks, frowning. “Did you collapse? Are you hurt?” 

 

Cisco clears his throat. “Jesus, dude, you almost gave me a heart attack.” He waves Harry off. His presence this close—after yesterday and after what Cisco’s just been thinking—is  too much. It’s a relief when Harry sits back and takes his hands off Cisco’s shoulders. “Nah, man. I’m okay. Well, sick but okay. This,” he pats the ground beside him, “is just my new home. Upright makes my head spin.”  

 

Cisco frowns as a thought occurs to him.  

 

“Wait. Did you _just_ notice I’m on the floor? I’ve been here for half an hour!” 

 

“…I was distracted,” Harry admits begrudgingly, looking a little embarrassed. It’s kind of cute. Cisco closes his eyes and groans. God, just kill him now. “Ramon? What is it? Do you want me to get Snow?” 

 

The naked distress in Harry’s voice makes Cisco’s stomach feel funny. It’s not just about this new… _thing_. It’s also that—Harry Wells openly showing concern for _anyone_ not his daughter is something Cisco still feels like throwing a party about. He knows just how hard the road was for all of them to get to this point. 

 

Cisco opens his eyes just in time to see Harry's hand reaching out to touch him again. He puts up a hand to stop him. “Nope. No doctor, man." He shakes his head and immediately regrets it. "I’ll be... I'll be fine. I think. I’m just gonna stay here for a while. Good floor.” He pats the floor again. 

 

“If you were feeling this bad, you should have stayed in the infirmary.” Harry glances at his watch. “Or gone home. You can’t stay on the floor.” 

 

“Uh, yes I can.” Cisco demonstrates by stretching out and making himself comfortable. He ignores the part of his mind that knows exactly why he came to lie down here in the workshop instead of tucking himself in the infirmary bed. “See?” 

 

Harry runs a hand through his hair and sighs. Cisco is immediately distracted by the mess he leaves behind so he doesn't hear what Harry says in reply. 

 

And then there's a strong grip around his arm, pulling him up. Cisco stumbles in surprise as he finds himself standing. 

 

"Come on, Ramon," Harry says, tugging him along. 

 

"Wait—" He tries to protest but the world starts spinning again. His body sways and he feels like he's going be sick but suddenly, he's leaning against something solid and warm. Even through the nausea and the dizziness, it takes Cisco less than a second to figure out what it is. He breathes in sharply—there's that familiar scent—motor oil and coffee and something else.   

 

"The cot's right there. You can make it," Harry says. Cisco closes his eyes—the spinning is getting worse—and leans harder against Harry. He's not afraid of falling or tripping—Harry's arm is braced tight around his shoulders while his other hand keeps a firm grip on Cisco's elbow. He trusts Harry to lead him. Even though he's totally a jerk for making him walk. "Come on." 

 

Cisco puts one foot in front of the other. His head is swimming.

 

"...I might puke on you."  

 

"Don't you dare." 

 

Before long, Harry is lowering him down on the cot. Cisco immediately misses the warmth of his body. For a moment, he feels an insane urge to pull Harry down with him. Then it passes and he sighs in relief as he lies down. The nausea is slowly retreating but his head feels heavier than ever. His heart isn't doing much better. "I take back what I said—I don't forgive you. I hate you. I was totally fine on the floor." 

 

"Again, not my fault," Harry replies from somewhere near the foot of the bed, "And you can't be on the floor because Snow will kill me if I leave you there." 

 

"Coward.” 

 

Harry snorts, "You bet." Cisco feels a tug on his foot. He opens his eyes tentatively, wary that the room might still be spinning—the ceiling stays still. He looks down the bed. 

 

“…you’re taking my shoes off,” he says, confused. The image of Harry Wells pulling Cisco's sneakers off is so surreal that he wonders if he's actually sick enough that he's hallucinating. 

 

Harry rolls his eyes at him, “What an astute observation, Ramon. Would you like that Nobel now?” He puts Cisco's shoes together neatly at the side of the bed. “Nice socks.” 

 

Cisco wiggles his socked feet. The little Daleks on them wave cheerily. “ _E_ _X_ _-_ _TER_ _-_ _MI_ _-NATE!_ _"_ He intones. _"_ Okay, maybe I do forgive you. Dante gave them to me for Christmas. So these are extra cool.”  

 

“They are.”  

 

He shares a small smile with Harry. If there's one thing that Harry has no problem expressing his feelings about, it's family.  

 

“Now go to sleep, Ramon,” Harry says, gruffly, as he throws a blanket over him, “You look like shit.” 

 

Cisco doesn't blink at the sudden change in mood. He's used to Harry's mercurial nature by now. He just pulls the blanket over his shoulder and snuggles into his pillow. “Gee, thanks, Harry. You say the nicest things.” 

 

Harry doesn't bother acknowledging him. Just goes back to work at his station, obviously dismissing Cisco from his list of priorities now that he's seen him to bed. 

 

Cisco rolls his eyes at Harry's back. Harry's probably had his fill of caring for the day. Cisco wouldn't want him to burst into hives or something. He just hopes Harry isn't too loud with whatever it is he's doing. 

 

He isn't. In fact, he's oddly quiet. 

 

Cisco falls asleep before he gets to the hundredth digit of Pi. 

 

 ~~~

 

When Cisco wakes up, the workshop is empty. Most of the lights are down and the room is silent save for the faint hum of machinery. 

 

Cisco looks at his watch— _3 AM._ Everyone must be home by now. He shivers. Ever since Thawne's betrayal, it's been kind of creepy to be up by himself in the small hours. Though he knows he isn't actually alone in the lab. Harry and Jesse are probably fast asleep in their rooms. 

 

He feels a little better now, at least. The sleep did him good. Cisco sits up. He's ecstatic when the room doesn't start spinning, though his head still feels like it weighs a ton and it's still hard to breathe through his stuffed nose. 

 

He looks around for his phone. Where did he put— 

 

Cisco blinks. There's a table next to him that wasn't there before. On it is a covered bowl with a spoon on top. His phone lies next to it.

 

There's a note. 

 

He picks it up and reads it: 

 

 _ATLANTEAN SOUP._  

 _GOOD FOR COLDS._  

 _EAT IT._  

 _-H_  

 

Cisco crumples the note against his face. 

 

 _I_ _t's just a crush._  

 

He repeats the mantra to himself until his heart doesn't feel like it's malfunctioning anymore. Then he smooths out the note and folds it carefully. He puts it in his pocket. 

 

The soup is cold and bright green. It tastes terrible.

 

He finishes it to the last drop. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry this took so long. I've been very busy. Hopefully, the next ones will be done faster.


End file.
